A Tribute to the Fife

When dawn breaks in New Peebleshire, before the cock crows or the bootblack soots his cheeks, one will inevitably hear the sweet whisper of fife music ringing through the cobblestone.

The melody strengthens as the local fifer's guild parades up the street, greeting the new day with the joyous sounds of the flute's illegitimate cousin. Children burst forth from their cottages when the fife wielders draw near, if perchance to join in the magical procession that seems to pass all too quickly.

"Fear not little ones," the Head Fife assures, "we shant refuse you such delights when the morrow morn commeth." So the children return to their sorghum-based breakfast cereals while the fifer's songs dimmeth. "Where do they go?" the children wonder, and their parents point them eastward. "To Gillowsbry Forest, of course!" they'll say, "to join with the birds in song."

A rightful tribute to the fife, which brings to all both joy and life, which toots its song for all to hear, and ushers in our daily cheer.